


remember to forget you

by emilyszuko



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Memory Loss, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyszuko/pseuds/emilyszuko
Summary: When Oliver Queen wakes up in an unfamiliar hospital room, his first instinct is to run. It isn't until after his escape is foiled that he realizes that he doesn't remember the last 9 years of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so, amnesia tropes... am i right?  
> look i got this idea 2 days ago and went with it. i got a lot of encouragement for a couple of people that i love that i should post this so here it is. hopefully, you guys enjoy this.

The muted whir of fluorescent lights somewhere above him greets Oliver as he pushes himself into consciousness. The pain comes not long after, an aching throb pounding behind his eyelids, floating downwards throughout his body, pain flaring along the entire left side. He's sure he lets out a grunt as the weight of his injuries presses down on him, and already he regrets the action -- even though subconsciously he has no idea where he is. Showing any sign of pain, especially as he's unaware if he's being monitored or not is a bad idea. He chastises himself.

 

Once he compartmentalizes and places the pain in a tiny little box for later inspection, Oliver begins to take note of his surroundings, though his eyes remain closed. Beneath his body is a bed, mostly comfortable, if not a little stiff. There’s indistinct chatter somewhere closeby, though not in his immediate vicinity. It's the steady beep of a heart monitor -- likely his -- that gives him the definite answer of what he'd already assumed. 

 

He's in a hospital room. 

 

Or a least somewhere staged like one.

 

The how, the when and the why are unknown, and frustration floods his body as he tries and fails come up with the answers. Belatedly, he makes out the muffled sound of unfamiliar voices growing louder and louder as they move closer, and his muscles flex involuntarily, ready to take on what’s sure be a threat. 

 

Maybe they'd been torturing him, wanting information about something or someone. Lord knows he's been here before. For the moment, however, Oliver's not sure what that could be. He  _ is _ sure they're not going to get what they want. He's already formulating his plan of escape, even though he hasn't even seen his surroundings yet. 

 

The voices are basically above him now, and he makes the effort to even out his breathing and lay completely still as he attempts to listen in, if only to have an idea of what they want from him.

 

“--out for longer than 24 hours, then we'll do everything we can to figure out if anything had gone wrong internally. For now, we'll leave him to wake up on his own, but I’m positive he won't be out much longer,” a woman says. 

 

The tone in which she'd spoken is what does it. It’s soft and reassuring, throwing him off kilter because he's almost positive her words are about him. Why would she be trying to reassure someone that he's going to be okay? It's been a long time since anyone has cared that he is. 5 years, he's pretty sure.

 

The urge to open his eyes and ask questions is surprisingly strong, the small concern shown for him pushing aside his suspicions about this place a bit too quickly. He hadn't known he'd been so starved for basic human kindness.

 

“And the concussion? Are you sure that's not going to cause any problems for him?”

 

This voice is different, but also the voice of a woman. The fear, unease and apprehension is clear, doing something strange to his heart even though he has no idea why. It unsettles him further, drawing a fear deeper from within -- somehow stronger than any fear he's ever felt in the past from the prospect of being tortured. 

 

Where the hell is he?

 

“I’m afraid there's no telling what he might wake up to after a such a hit to the head, Ms Smoak,” the other woman instills, and he catalogs that information somewhere for later inspection as well. “But like I said, we just have to wait for him to wake up on his own.”

 

“Yeah,” Ms Smoak croaks, voice low and unsure, “Yeah, okay. Thank you Dr Schwartz,” her voice is a bit stronger on her second try. 

 

“No problem, dear. And you're okay too right? Aside from the sprained wrist and the bruising?” 

 

“Yeah. But I'm just glad William came out unscathed,” he feels a hand slip into his, instinctively wanting to flinch away from the touch, but forcing himself not to. “I just hope this guy is okay.”

 

“We’ll have to sort out your blood work, just to ensure everything's good on your part,” she rushes to add as if the other woman had started to protest, “And then I'll leave you to it.”

 

He makes out a long sigh, the woman's hesitance obvious at Dr. Schwartz insistence. Eventually he hears her say, “Fine, the sooner we see to me, the better I guess. I just… I really want to be here when Oliver wakes up.”

 

“I know. Which is why it'll be over before you know it. If you'll follow me…” her voice sounds more distant as if she'd walked out of earshot. 

 

Light as a feather, Oliver feels the press of lips against his forehead as the woman holding his hand leaves a kiss on his skin. Discomfort at the act of affectionate blooms in his chest, adding to his confusion that had already been there as the conversation between the women had progressed. “Wake up soon, babe. I'll be right back.”

 

The words are whispered right between the space of their faces, he can tell, her presence warm and inviting, yet unsettling and unknown. He wants to open his eyes, to look into the face of this woman that clearly cares for him. 

 

He wonders then if someone is messing with him. Making this woman say things like this, kiss him so lovingly, just so he can let his guard down. He wonders what the hell he's stumbled himself into this time.

 

A moment later, her presence disappears as her fingers slip from between his. Then he makes out the soft snap of a door shutting. And then he's sure he’s alone again.

 

He doesn't hesitate as he opens his eyes, immediately confirming his guess that he's in a hospital like room. The room is moderately spacious, less sterile than he’d thought it would be. There's an empty chair by his bed, and a large window on his right, showcasing what looks to be a sunset. So, late evening then.

 

The buildings he can make out through the window are modern, though not overly so. He guesses he's somewhere in the States, which isn't so bad considering he's woken up in stranger, deadlier places. 

 

He looks down at his body then, hospital gown and heavy blanket concealing most of it. His left arm is bruised red, and he finds that pain flares whenever he moves it too suddenly. 

 

Surprisingly, and also unsurprisingly, his mind takes a turn, specifically on the feel of cool lips on the skin of his forehead. Of the obvious tenderness and sense of intimacy that though he's unfamiliar with, isn't the case for the woman.  _ Ms Smoak _ . 

 

Who is he to her?

 

He doesn't want to stick around to find out. Because he can't think of a single time in the last how many years, that the questions he'd wanted answered had good outcomes. So, he doesn't want answers.

 

Oliver wants to run. 

 

And that's exactly what he does.

 

Grabbing hold of the needles for his IV forged within his skin under a clear tape, Oliver pulls until it breaks from inside the fold of his arm, only wincing slightly as a bit of blood spills from his skin. He also unhooks himself from his heart monitor. 

 

Ignoring his pain, he sits up before throwing the blankets off of his body. Tossing his legs over the side, he stands slowly, the painful throb behind his eyes making a come back. For a moment, nausea runs over him, but it passes somewhat and then Oliver doesn't wait another moment. 

 

When he reaches the door, he looks through the small rectangular window to the outside of the room which reveals a narrow hallway, empty from his immediate field of vision, but bright. 

 

It's fine. He can make it work.

 

He only stalls for a second before pulling the door open, looking up and down the hallway. To the left, he spots two persons, a man, arms the size of boulders and a young man no older than 16. Their backs are turned to him as they talk to one another, and Oliver slips out of the room, intent on taking the empty side to make his escape. 

 

He's three steps away when he makes out someone shouting, “Dad,” but he ignores it, figuring it's the young man down the hall seeking out his father. He repeats the call 3 more times, louder each time, which subconsciously makes Oliver increase his retreat.

 

When he makes out his name being called, he glances behind to see the man and boy with worried expressions on their faces, frantically hurrying after  _ him _ . 

 

Guess this is where it all catches up to him. At least his suspicions are confirmed. This had all been a trick of some sorts. 

 

He continues his escape hastily. 

 

“Oliver, hey man! Where are you going?”

 

“Dad!”

 

He doesn't know why this boy is calling him his father, or how calling him that accomplishes anything. He can't imagine himself being anyone's Dad. It's with this on his mind that he crashes into two nurses, knocking all 3 of them off their feet for a couple of seconds. He curses under his breath, shoving them off him as they both turn to him, taking in his gown and offering their help. 

 

It all becomes overwhelming pretty quickly. How they're acting like he's a patient here. How they look at him with barely concealed concern, open and kind, if a bit wary. How the man and boy catch up to them pretty quickly, repeating his name, and calling him Dad, looking at him like they  _ know _ him, like he's supposed to know them too.

 

He loses grip on his reality, letting out a low growl and standing to take off again. Whatever this is, he can not -- will not -- stick around to find out what it is. Something tells him it'll destroy him and everything he thinks he knows.

 

He doesn't get that far before one of the nurses grab hold of his arm, the distinct prickle of a needle piercing his skin. He looks over at her in acceptance, though he doesn't know why. Maybe because his suspicions have been confirmed. They're out to hurt him. 

 

The light dies behind his eyes, consciousness slipping breath by breath -- just as he spots a blonde woman sprinting towards him. 

 

\---

 

“Oliver,” a voice calls, warm and vaguely familiar. 

 

This time, he's not sure he wants to wake up. His thoughts are groggy, still muddled from whatever it is that nurse had given him. He realizes though that his pain isn't as prominent as when he'd woken up earlier. It's more like a dull ache, only noticeable if he thinks about it.

 

His right arm is angled weirdly by his head, and he also realizes belatedly that he's been restrained by a pair of handcuffs. Figures they wouldn't want to let him try to escape again.

 

When he pries his eyes open this time, he's not alone. He takes in the persons in the room, recognizing most of them. First, he settles his gaze on the man and boy that had spoiled his escape. Their expressions are equal parts confusion and fear. Fear of him, he hopes. Maybe then they'll know not to mess with him. They'd only gotten the drop on him because he wasn't at his best, physically or mentally. Still, something tells him they're not looking to do that again.

 

The next persons he makes out are the two nurses from the hallway -- the one that had drugged him avoiding eye contact. Smart move.

 

Next is someone who he assumes is a doctor, maybe the same one that had been in his room earlier, white coat around her shoulders as she watches him carefully. He can't make out what the expression on her face or what she's thinking. 

 

The final person in the room sits in the chair by his bed. And he can't quite place her, but he recognizes the fear in her eyes immediately. Though this fear, he notices, is obviously  _ for _ him, rather than  _ of _ him. He doesn't know what to make of that. He can see the way her body buzzes, wanting to reach out, but knowing better that she shouldn't. 

 

He doesn't know what it is about her, but he feels like the last thing he'd want to do is harm her. 

 

Fact is, as confused and frustrated that he is about this whole situation, he wouldn't harm anyone in this room -- if they don't try to harm him first.

 

It's in his nature to fight, but other than looking at him like they're observing a jungle cat caged into confinement, they haven't touched him yet. He hopes they keep that up. Maybe he can give them what they want -- this Oliver they're looking for. Point them in his direction. Because it isn't him.

 

He breaks the silence first, “Who are you people and what do you want from me?”

 

The only person that manages not to gasp in disbelief is the doctor. She does close her eyes though, like she's accepting something she didn't want to. 

 

“What do you mean, ‘who are you people?’ Oliver, we're you're family,” the woman by his bedside practically shouts, voice a bit hysterical. The young boy takes a step closer, nodding along with the woman. At his side, the man places a hand on his shoulder -- in comfort, he notes.

 

But Oliver feels like they're purposefully fucking with him. Because… He doesn't even know. Why would these strangers call themselves his family? 

 

“No… no, my family is in Starling City. Thea, and my mom. Tommy,” he insists, knowing that he shouldn't be giving away this information about his family but also aware that if they know his name, a quick Google search can get them that info and more.

 

A broken sob leaves the woman's mouth this time, eyes wide and horrified as she looks at him. He doesn't know why, and he's reeling because he's really fucking confused about why she's so upset by his answer. He glances up, and practically everyone shares her reaction. 

 

He fixes his gaze on the doctor when she speaks, “Nurse Andrew, Nurse Powell, thank you for helping with my patient. But, I've got it from here,” The dismissal is clear as she addresses the two nurses, and with one more pitiful glance his way, they make their exit. 

 

“Dad, are… are you okay? What's wrong with you?”

 

When he notices that the boy is looking at  _ him _ , he's reminded that this young man believes he's his father. He's not, but he'll answer him anyway, “I don't know,” which, yeah, not really an answer. 

 

The blonde woman grabs onto the boy's hand, pulling him to stand by her side as they both look at him with tears shining in their eyes.  _ What do these people want from him? _

 

“Oliver, do you know who anyone in this room is?” The doctor asks, tone warm, but said with an air of trepidation. 

 

He looks over them again, desperately trying to place them, if only so he can appease them because they obviously expect him to. But he doesn't know this mountain of a man standing before him. Doesn't recognize this boy -- young man -- as he peers down at him. 

 

He only places the blonde woman as the same one that had kissed his forehead before -- and that's just from putting 2 and 2 together. 

 

“Ms Smoak?” he offers as he meets her eyes, shocked by the unaltered amount of  _ love _ shining within them. Love for  _ him. _ But it's not really his, it is? 

 

He can see the hope blooming in their eyes at his recognition of her, but he doesn't think it’s right to let them believe it's what they think it is. He goes on, “From before? You kissed my forehead.”

 

Their smiles drop, and the blond woman’s head bows in disappointment. He has the strongest urge to fix it, to make that smile return to her face -- to make all smiles return to their faces and he doesn't know why.

 

“What's the last thing you remember before waking up in this hospital bed?”

 

Oliver blanches.

 

He's not sure.

 

He hadn't realized in all his hurry to get out of the place that he's blank on how he got into it. Sure, he'd been vaguely aware that he couldn't remember much but he'd blamed that on momentary confusion. Now that he has time to think about it, he has no clue how he ended up in this position.

 

He does as the doctor asks, trying to recall the last thing he remembers before waking up here, and briefly, images of explosions and forestry flashes before his eyes, the smell of sea water settles within his nose and he can feel the sway of his body as he sits on a boat.

 

Oliver looks at the doctor, “The last thing I remember is coming home from Lian Yu.”

 

He's met with dead silence. 

 

If he'd thought they'd been horrified before, it has nothing on the way they're all looking at him like he's grown another head right before them. He might as well have.

 

The blonde woman stands suddenly, hand flying to her mouth as she holds in a sob. Tears are rolling freely down her face as she looks at him, and he can't quite explain what he sees in her eyes. 

 

She turns and sprints for the door, and something settles in his stomach at the action.

 

“Felicity!” The young man calls out to her retreating form, running after her a second later. Though he doesn't know how much good he'll do her. With his face puffy and his eyes red, he doesn't look much better.

 

He's left in the room with the man with arms the size of his head and the doctor with kind eyes, both of them watching him with barely disguised apprehension and distinctive sadness. 

 

A part of him knows that now would be a good time to attempt to make a run for it. The handcuffs, though a bit painful, are easy to slip out of. The man is big, but he's fought bigger. He could try to escape again.

 

Surprisingly, he doesn't try to. 

 

He's confused -- so fucking confused -- but he's realizing that these people don't want to hurt him. They were the ones that were hurt because he'd denied them of being his family. Somehow, he feels like he has the upper hand here.

 

But he also feels like he's missing something. 

 

It doesn't take long for him to find out.

 

“Oliver, man. You got off Lian Yu almost 9 years ago.”

That's… not what he thought he'd say.

 

Ofcourse, the first thing he does is deny it.

 

Chuckling soundly at the man, Oliver insists, “I think I'd know if I left the island 9 years ago. What's really going on here? Is there someone behind this? Is it Waller? I thought she was done playing games with me,” he questions, sobering at the thought that maybe this is another one of Amanda Waller's set ups.

 

What she'd want from him again, he doesn't know, worse what she'd accomplish by manipulating him into believing he's somehow 9 years into the future without any memory of that time. 

 

“No man,” the older man sighs, looking to the doctor for help, it seems. Her eyes widen in panic for a moment before they brighten, as if forming an idea in her mind. Walking towards the small table by his bed, she grabs a remote control, turning to the tv tucked on the farthest corner of the wall and switching it on, surfing the channels until she finds a weather update station. 

 

 _December 8, 2020_ _\- scattered showers throughout the day._

 

When he sees it, his mind does the only thing it can. 

 

It spirals.

 

It spins and rebels, taking in and pushing out, turns upside down and falls apart. It closes in on itself, questioning everything it knows. Or more accurately, everything it doesn't know. It broadens, flimsy and structurally unsound, bound to break under the pressure. After years of hell, he comes home, or wherever he is… to this? But then that would mean he came home a long time ago.

 

And if he did, did he right his father's wrongs? Did he protect his sister? Was he there for her the way a big brother should be? Was he finally the son his mother could've been proud of? Did he stick by Tommy and never leave his best friend again? Was he finally the man Laurel deserved? Did he give her all the things she'd always expressed wanting?

 

The questions are poised on his lips, but then, a dark thought settles on his mind.

 

Why aren't any of them here? Wherever here is? How come he's in a room full of strangers claiming he's their family? And that they're his? What the fuck happened in these 9 years? Who has Oliver Queen become?

 

“How?” he croaks, aware that he hasn't spoken for well over 5 minutes.

 

The man clears his throat, sympathizing with him as he reveals the truth, “You were in a car accident man. Van ran a red light and hit the driver's side, and you were seated there.”

 

“You hit your head pretty bad, got a concussion. Though rare, many times with head injuries like yours, patients experience memory loss,” the doctor continues, smiling sadly at him.

 

“Amnesia,” he adds unnecessarily, shaking his head at the reality of his situation. “I don't remember the last almost 9 years of my life because I was in a car accident.”

 

Both of them nod, though they both know he doesn't need confirmation. Silence stretches over them then, though he figures out pretty soon that silence is no longer a friend. The questions, the “where are”s, the “when did”s and the “how did”s assault him, bouncing around from what and who he thinks he knows to what and who he can't even comprehend knowing or finding out.

 

Luckily, the door swings open as the blonde woman and the young boy step inside the room once more, looking far more composed that when they'd left. They're still not okay though, he can tell, even if he doesn't know them.

 

“What'd we miss?” she asks, falsely bright as she looks between the man and the doctor, steadily avoiding his gaze. 

 

“I’m afraid your husband's suffering from amnesia, Ms Smoak,” the doctor -- Dr. Schwartz, he decides to start referring to her as such -- says, dropping two bombs in one statement, though only half of it is news to him.

 

He's married. 

 

Oliver's married.

 

And not to Laurel Lance.

 

He doesn't know how to feel about that.

 

He'd always thought that if he were to ever go through with the whole marriage thing, it'd be with her. But that's obviously not the case.

 

He looks up at his… wife, meeting her eyes, eyes that are spilling with tears once more, and he doesn't know them. He doesn't know her. Who the hell is he married to?

 

But… though he doesn't know them, they're kind, and loving, and if she could marry him -- assuming she's aware of all his flaws, then he must've done something right. 

 

For now though, he doesn't know how he's supposed to even talk to her. Does he introduce himself? Ask her what's her favorite color? Because those are things you know about your spouse right? 

 

And who's to say she'll stay with him. He can't imagine how hard this must be for her. For all the love she's pouring into her gaze as she's looking at him, he knows he's looking at her like she's a stranger because that's exactly what she is.

 

How do you stay with someone like him? Someone who doesn't remember you? Someone broken?

 

“Amnesia,” she echoes, much like he had, voice wobbly but purposeful and strong. Weirdly, it makes him look at her in a new light, “I figured. And, um…” she swallows, “How bad is it?”

 

He speaks before Dr. Schwartz or the other man can speak for him, “I don't remember the last 9 years of my life, if that's what you mean. And, if you don't mind me asking, how much of that have we been married for, Felicity?” he questions, adding the name he’d heard the boy call her. It rolls off his tongue pleasantly. He fights a smile.

 

Felicity offers him an open smile, though her lips are too pinched for it to be anything but forced, “3 years, but we've been together for far longer. Or well, in love would be the more appropriate term, since things always seemed to find a way to keep us apart.”

 

He takes in her words, turning them over because there's a lot to unpack there. If they've been in love for as long as she says, then that would mean that his thing with Laurel fizzled out pretty quickly after he came home too. He wonders why.

 

He looks at Felicity, really looks at her, and realizes then that it isn't difficult to see why he'd fallen in love with her. She's a beautiful woman, clearly in love with him, or her version of him, but strong and caring, especially to the young man whom he's starting to understand is their son.  _ His _ son. 

 

Oliver Queen has a son. 

 

A child -- or, he's not really a child anymore seeing as he's a full foot taller than his mother. Although, if he got together with Felicity after the island, maybe she isn't his mom. 

 

When did his life become such a clusterfuck? 

 

He's married, with a child and he doesn't remember any of it. And then that realization brings him to another. Do they know about his mission? The list? That he has to right his father's wrongs? That Starling has this illness that he's taken himself up to cure? Had he lied to them? Acted like the perfect husband and father all the while leading another life under the darkness of the night?

 

Every time he thinks of one question, 5 more pop up, and he's quite literally exhausted from the toll it's taking on him. 

 

He glances over at Felicity, and he doesn't know how, but somehow he can tell she's aware of exactly what he's thinking. He can see it in the way she's looking at him.

 

When he catches sight of the cast on her hand, all the things he’d heard in her earlier conversation with Dr Schwartz starts falling into place. And he realizes that he wasn't alone in the accident. His protective nature flares it's head quickly, pushing aside any questions that might be rolling around in his head.

 

Looking between both Felicity and his son -- William, if the name from the earlier conversation is correct -- he asks, “Are you both okay? I wasn't the only one in that accident, was I?”

 

Felicity shakes her head, wet smile on her face as she looks down at him, “You'll always be so  _ you _ even when you're not  _ you _ ,” she mumbles, and he doesn't think anyone was meant to hear it. Clearing her throat, she speaks again, “We're fine, trust me. Typing will be a bit difficult for a few days but, I'm fine and so is William.” She inspects the cast as she says this but otherwise flits her gaze between William, Dr. Schwartz and himself. 

 

What she meant by typing being difficult for her confuses him and he wonders briefly if she's a writer. She looks normal for the most part. Maybe she has a normal job. Maybe he does too. He wonders what that is. 

 

Before he can speak again, Felicity addresses Dr. Schwartz, “So what do we do now? How long will his memory be lost? Will he get them back?”

The questions make sense, and what he should be asking so he settles his gaze on the doctor as well, intent for this all to be fixed. 

 

He feels like he's sick. A kind of illness that isn't physical, but rather of the mind. He gets the feeling that this particular sickness of the mind doesn't even begin the laundry list of shadows lurking deep within his subconscious. 

 

“We’ll have to run some test, but I'm afraid there's no telling how long his memories will be lost, or if they'll ever even come back. I'm not saying this to alarm you, but it's a reality that you should all prepare yourselves for. Now, after the tests, we'll keep him for one more day for recovery for his physical injuries, then release him. The smart thing to do is to ease into what he's used to doing. Rushing into his normal routines might overwhelm him and that's the last thing we want.” She directs her next words to him, “And when I say,  _ ease _ , Mr Queen, I mean it.”

 

The last part is said like a warning, though her tone is jovial and light. He gets the idea that it's an inside joke that he should know the meaning of. But he's blank. He doesn't have a clue what she could be referring to.

 

He nods his head anyway, if only to reassure her, before looking towards Felicity. Her face, he notes, has gotten closed off and hard to read. Before now, he'd been able to pick up somewhat on her moods, but currently, it's as if she's preparing herself to go into battle. 

 

“Alright, thank you, Dr. Schwartz.” She turns to the other man in the room, who as big as he is, Oliver had momentarily forgotten was there, “John, will you do me a favor and please drive William home? It's getting late and he should be in bed--"

 

“Felicity! Come on, I can't leave Dad right now!” William exclaims.

 

She continues as if he hadn't interrupted, “And then, if it's not too much trouble, could you get me a change of clothes? For tomorrow?”

 

_ John _ \-- he notes -- stares at her, and a silent conversation passes between them. Something in his heart pulls at that, and he averts his gaze to give them some semblance of privacy. 

 

“Yeah, okay. Will, I'll let you say goodbye to your old man.” John assures, stepping towards him and laying a hand on the younger boy's shoulder in support. Then his eyes land on him, something familiar and strong there. He gets the feeling that he means a lot to this man too. “Get better soon, Oliver.” He moves his arm out to touch him, but thinks better of it at the last minute and pulls his arm back, then turns and leave after waving goodbye to Felicity and Dr. Schwartz.

 

As soon as he's gone, William is pleading his case, “Felicity, come on. This isn't fair. He might not remember but he's my Dad. I can't just leave him now. What if he remembers something while I'm gone?”

 

Felicity sighs, closing her eyes and letting the mask she’d placed over her features slip away for a moment before slipping it back in place. “William, honey, you were in a car accident, remember that? And while you weren't hurt physically, you shouldn't exert yourself either. You need rest. That's the best thing you can do for your father right now,” They both glance over at him at that, and he nods, feeling like the smart move would be to agree with her but also aware of somewhere deep down that knows she’s right. “So, please, get some rest and then bright and early in the morning you can come down and spend the whole day by his side… if… if he wants you to.”

 

The hesitance and uncertainty is clear, and he wishes he could assure both of them that he wants that. Truth is, Oliver has no clue what he wants. 

 

William, for his part, finally bows his head in acceptance.

 

Stepping to his side, he bends and wraps his arms around him -- as best he could in his position anyway -- and murmurs, “Please try and remember us, Dad.” His voice breaks a bit, but he doesn't call him out on it. When he steps back to look at him, Oliver forces a smile on his face, somehow feeling like disappointing this young man is the last thing he wants to do.

 

William leaves after hugging and kissing Felicity on the cheek, making him realize that though they might not be biological mother and son, they sure love each like they are. He wonders what happened to William's mom. Was he with her before Felicity? Is she still in the picture?

 

He shuts down that train of thought before it sends him spiralling again.

 

“A nurse will come get him to remove that handcuff and take him down for the test I mentioned. And then you can have him all for yourself,” Dr. Schwartz reassures, squeezing Felicity's arm in comfort for a moment, “Oh, and the results for your blood work should be down within the hour. But, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.” She starts stepping back to leave, “I have to go see to my other patients, but if you need me, you know how to reach me.”

 

“Thank you Dr. Schwartz, really, for everything.” Felicity says.

 

“Just doing my job, Ms. Smoak.”

 

And with that she exits the room.

 

And then he's alone with his wife for the first time, “It's Felicity Smoak right?”

 

She startles a bit at his voice, probably having thought that he'd remain quiet the whole time. He doesn't fault her. If she knows him, then she knows that talking isn't exactly something that comes easily to him. Still, in her company, he finds that he wants to. 

 

“From the day I was born, yes,” she answers, and he can almost literally see her fighting a smile. It triggers his own. 

 

His eyes flicker to her hands, spotting the wedding band quickly and frowning in confusion. “Smoak… not Queen?”

 

She shakes her head in negative, “No, I wanted to keep my last name, mostly for Smoak Tech. But I  _ am _ your wife, last name unchanged or not.”

 

“Smoak Tech?” he deflects, still not sure what to make of the fact that he's married to this woman.

 

“My company, yes. It's young, but I've never been more proud to call something mine.” The pride in her voice is unmistakable and he smiles to himself, feeling happy for her even though he hardly knows her.

 

The mention of a company tugs a memory in his mind. Queen Consolidated. His father's pride and joy. He wonders briefly who runs it now. Did his mother take over? Did he? He'd thought earlier that Felicity was a writer, but maybe that's not it. Maybe it's a different kind of company. 

 

Still, the thought of his mother stops him short. Shouldn't she be here? He's in the hospital for Christ sake. She'd always been a busy woman, but surely she can't be too busy to come see him.

 

“Did my mother stop by?”

 

Felicity's prideful smile falls from her lips and a fresh wave of tears start building in her eyes, “Oliver--"

 

“Mr. Queen? We're ready to take you down for your tests.”

 

Both their heads snap around to the nurse making her way into the room, pushing a wheelchair before her with a set of keys by her waistband. Felicity's words die on her tongue, and she almost looks relieved at the interruption. 

 

He's being ushered out of the room and away from her before he can ask her why that is.

 

\---

 

The 3rd time he wakes up, it's from a slumber that he had induced himself. He's glad to not be drugged again, but after they'd run the test and returned him to his room, he was too tired to keep his eyes open. 

 

Felicity hadn't been present when he came back but as he blinks his eyes open and looks to his side, he makes out her figure on the same chair she’d been preoccupying as she taps away at the surface of her phone. 

 

He knows he hasn't been asleep long. A little less than an hour if he'd had to guess. Since they've taken him off drugs, naturally, his body won't rest for more than an hour or a few hours at a time. He's used to it.

 

He wonders if 9 years from now him has gotten better at silencing the demons that keep him from keeping his eyes shut for hours on end.

 

He sits up, wincing when the left side of his body aches in pain. The throbbing in his head is there, but muted. Felicity turns her gaze towards him at the movement of course, murmuring, “Hey, don't push yourself,” and reaching her arms out as if to aid him. She must realize what she was about to do because her arms return to her sides a moment after, face sheepish and mildly dejected.

 

“I'm okay,” he assures her, finally sitting upright.

 

Tilting her head to the side and raising an eyebrow in a way he finds decidedly endearing, Felicity asks, “Are you? Okay?”

 

Somehow he knows she doesn't mean physically. He doesn't know how to answer her question without baring his soul. And he doesn't know if he's comfortable doing that with her. Not yet anyway.

 

She goes on, as if the silence makes her uncomfortable, “I mean, I can't even imagine what you must be feeling right now. When you'd just come back from the island, I didn't know you very well, but I know you weren't the most trustful guy. I know you must be reeling with reasons why this is all a joke. And you must be buzzing to run away from all this.”

 

Her words, though rushed and said with nonchalance, barely disguise an air very real fear. Fear that he'll run. Since when did Oliver Queen mean so much to someone that they're afraid that he’d want to be apart from them?

 

“I--" he starts, only now aware that he doesn't know what to say. 

 

Does he want to run? Leave behind this life he’d obviously created for himself? 

 

A knock sounds on the door a moment before it snaps open, revealing a nurse he doesn't recognize. There's a smile on her face that she's trying to conceal but failing at doing so. 

 

Both he and Felicity fix their gazes on her, aware of the file of paper in her hands. “Is there something you need?” Felicity questions the woman.

 

“Not necessarily Ms. Smoak. We ran your blood work through a number of test -- just to ensure an all clear. But…” she trails off, clearly unaware of how to deliver whatever news she has.

 

“But what?” Felicity asks, sliding to the edge of her seat and standing. He can't see her face with her back to him but he knows she's worried.

 

The nurse looks between the two of them.

 

“Congratulations Mr. Queen, Ms. Smoak, you're pregnant.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver react to the news about Felicity's pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i really enjoyed this writing this chap! just like fair warning, this will be an angst fest... as in this whole story. and this chapter isnt even the half of it.
> 
> anyways enjoy!

_ “Congratulations Mr. Queen, Ms. Smoak, you're pregnant.” _

 

It's funny, Felicity thinks, how life has a way of unexpectedly knocking your feet out from beneath you, kicking you repeatedly in your gut and your face and your chest and every surface of your skin, leaving you blooded and half dying -- heaving uncontrollably as you try to catch the breath your damaged lungs are failing to inhale and exhale. How when you feel like the worst is over, like life can’t possibly hurt you more than it already has, life returns and runs over your dying body with a freight train.

 

And then when you decide that, this, this is it,  _ I can't take anymore, _ and you've all but given up, it goes and picks you up and it gives you shelter. It heals your wounds, dries the tears you've cried. Gives you space to heal and grow. Gives you unbridled happiness. And you move on, never forgetting when life knocked you down, but also never forgetting the good it's given you either.

 

This moment is very much like that.

 

The nurse before her finally lets the smile she’d been trying to keep off her face loose, but Felicity's hardly paying attention to her. She can't make out anything but the words that have made her aware that there's a baby growing inside of her. That  _ finally _ , she's pregnant, and she's going to be a biological mother, and Oliver will be a father again and will witness  _ all _ of this child’s life and growth and William will be a big brother like he's been longing to be.

 

_ Finally _ life has granted her another good, and it will continue to give her and her family good for the rest of this baby's life. And it  _ will _ be a full, lengthened life, so long as she has breath in her lungs and blood pumping within her veins.

 

There has always been tons of reasons why they couldn't -- shouldn't -- want another child. She's turned over each of them, weighing their mass and measuring their length and how wide they stretched. She's memorized each, can recite why complicating their already complex lifestyle with another target, another risk, another thing to lose, is a bad idea. An awful one. In fact, for someone of her IQ level, it's impossible not to see how stupid they are to want this added pressure. 

 

And yet.

 

And  _ yet _ .

 

This joy she feels? The tears that, for the first time today she isn't interested in casting away, spilling down her cheeks? The relief? The kaleidoscope of images showcasing a future that's all too imperfect but  _ hers _ and Oliver's and William's and this baby's? She's never felt anything like it. And she's almost positive that there isn't.

 

She'd started wanting a baby 5 months after Oliver had been released from prison. It wasn't obvious, or even really that prominent except for a feeling of ‘yeah, I can imagine having another kid sometime in the future with this man that I love with all of me.’ But with time, it grew. And it wouldn't stop. Despite all logic, soon enough, Felicity  _ wanted _ a baby.

 

And so did Oliver.

 

It wasn't a monumental, groundbreaking moment of decision -- they'd both known in their bones that the path they'd taken together would lead to it, even without being aware that they did. Then it was just accepted between them 6 months ago that they'd actively start expanding their family. Precautions were taken, contingencies put in place, family meetings were held, and then and then and then.

 

And then… nothing. For months.

 

At first they'd worried if it had anything to do with her chip implant but after extensive examination, they'd been given the all clear… which wasn't all that reassuring either. 

 

Maybe it was the stress of trying to run Smoak Tech successfully everyday, or maybe it was Oliver's struggle with accepting his inability to settle within one career path, or maybe it was both those things plus the disappointment of seeing ‘not pregnant’ every time they'd managed to get their hopes up. 

 

Either way, she wasn't getting pregnant and after a while they'd stopped focusing on trying and instead focused on enjoying each other. They hadn't stopped wanting it -- in fact, if anything they wanted it even more -- but something had to change. 

 

And, well, it worked, because now...

 

They're pregnant. 

 

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, her heart is warm within her chest, and her hands tremble at her sides out of excitement. 

 

Then Felicity turns to Oliver, and just like that, a freight train tramples her.

 

An assortment of expressions passes over his face, shifting from the likes of confusion, to realization, to panic, to fear, to total incomprehension. Like, he can't even fathom  _ how _ this is happening to him. How he managed to be having a child with her.

 

Felicity wonders if the nurse still at the door can hear the shatter of her heart as it ruptures in her chest.

 

He doesn't remember wanting a child, she reminds herself. He doesn't remember the last 3 years that has been their marriage. He doesn't remember the last 9 years of his life. He doesn't remember John or William.

 

He doesn't remember her.

 

She lost him. Again.

 

He's right in front of her, but her greatest fear managed to manifest itself in the most creative, sickening way. He's right here, but he's not.

 

She wonders now if it had been this whole ordeal that had made her throw up earlier or if it was morning sickness. It's probably both.

 

“S--She's…” he stutters, “She's p--pregnant?”

 

He sounds  _ nothing _ like himself. Nothing like the man she's been in love with for almost 9 years, nothing like the hardened vigilante whose shadows struck fear into a whole city years ago, nothing like the Green Arrow that he has since only recently become proud of being adorned. Nothing like she's ever heard him be. 

 

Oliver sounds so very afraid and intimidated and unsure. So unsure. 

 

And she gets it. She does. If the only thing he remembers right now is coming home from the island, how  _ can _ he react any other way than this? How can she expect him to be anything less than petrified? 

 

He's been thrust back into reality he doesn't recognize and this is the first thing that greets him. If pain were an accessory, they'd both be dressed to the nines.

 

“Yes sir,” the nurse continues, obviously clueless to what's happening to them, clueless to the sharp turn down a road of torment that their lives have taken. “She’ll have to take some more test to find out more accurate information about the pregnancy, but, uhh,” she pauses, eyes studying them for a second, “There's no rush.”

 

She finally seems to have read the room, and after sparing them an apologetic glance, she scurries back through the door. 

 

For a fraction of a second, Felicity kind of wishes she hadn't left. That she had a buffer in this moment, if only to stall what's sure to be a difficult conversation. But she pushes that thought away quickly because as hard and as painful and downright unfathomable as this whole situation is, that's her husband sitting on that hospital bed. She has never been nor will she ever been too cowardice to face him.

 

“What are you gonna do about the baby?”

 

Except now.

 

She swallows down the shards of the broken pieces of her heart stuck in her throat, though unable to tamper the anger that rises at his words, even though she knows --  _ knows _ \-- that he can't help but feel the way he feels about what's happening, “What am  _ I _ gonna do about the baby?” she questions, the hurt, betrayal and sense of accusation at his words, though unfair, obvious. 

 

He doesn't miss it, if the way his eyes widen in surprise is any indication, and he rushes to fix his mistake. Or attempt to. “Hey, woah, don't get mad. I just meant… i--is this something you want? Was this expected?”

 

He looks at her like he has absolutely has no idea what her answer could be and she has to be constantly reminding herself that he doesn't. He has no clue about anything in their life or his life. It's the second time he's said ‘you’ and not ‘we’ and really, how can she blame him for not thinking like a husband? Like a man that knows they don't experience or do things alone, but always with each other?

 

“We,” she begins, because she refuses to make this only about her, “We’ve been trying to get pregnant for 6 months now, so yeah, it's what we want but I certainly wasn't expecting this today too,” she looks down, unable to meet his gaze, “Today of all days.”

 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she makes out Oliver running a hand down his face before running it back up, then the other hand joins in as he runs them through his hair and links them behind his neck, head bowed. It's a move that's so very him, so very Oliver, that she can't help but flinch at the action.

 

It's all a bit painful -- not enough to steal her breath, but strong enough to stir her fears.

 

So much of him is the same, so much so that it takes her a second to realize. But then so much has changed too.

 

The way he looks and the way he's surveying his surroundings, never quite relaxed or complacent in believing he's safe. She knows this Oliver, and he's still like this sometimes. 

 

But around them? Around John and William and her? Looking at them and looking  _ through _ them and seeing threats and not the people he loves and the people that love him?

 

Whenever Oliver used to look at her before today, he never had to utter the words ‘I love you’ because his eyes -- those blue blue eyes -- would say it all. He could look at her and transcribe sonnets of love all over her skin. He could smile at her and she'd know, she'd know it in her bones, that no man has never loved a woman the way he loves her.

 

And now?

 

Today, Oliver looks at her like a stranger passing her by on the street. And her world shakes, tempted to collapse, every time.

 

Oliver speaks, hands still locked behind his neck, “So, you're keeping it, is what you're saying…”

 

How is no one hearing the crash of her heart being smashed into smithereens in her chest?

 

“Yes…” is all she can manage to say.

 

“God, I don't even remember… the baby making… which sucks.” She looks up at this, just in time to see his gaze running up and down the length of her body appreciatively and she doesn't miss the darkening of his gaze as he studies her. It's her undoing, the heat that rises, that always rises, by them just looking at each other. 

 

Never mind that she shouldn't, and it's not the same, but she can't help herself. It's Oliver.  _ Her _ Oliver, no matter the state of his mind. Her heartbeat will always pick up when he looks at her like that.

 

But even so, it's not right, and it's with repeating those words in her head over and over again that she finally breaks the heated lockdown that their eyes had been in. He looks down not long after.

 

She's unsure what's going on his head then, and she hates it, because she knows Oliver like the back of her hand, but not right now. Not in these quiet parenthesis where no words are uttered.

 

God, she hates this. So much. 

 

“How am I supposed to take care of a baby?”

 

The words weren't meant for her ears, she notices, but a block of ice settles deep within her, freezing over her entire body. She is a cold, icy, block of pain.

 

“With me. Together, just like we planned,” she hears herself say, surprising both of them with her words. But she finds that she absolutely means them. 

 

This, right now, is just another kick to the gut that life has given them, she realizes. They  _ will _ get pass this. His memory will come back to him, and in the meantime she'll help him all she can… she'll play catch up.

 

She has to.

 

Oliver watches her, gaze fixed, if not a little wary -- same as it's been since he woke up. “But I don't remember planning anything. You know that,”

 

“I'll remember it for you.”

 

Without missing a beat, he ignores her answer -- which stings as much as you'd expect -- and asks instead, “Where's my mother? And Thea? I've been here for a while and I've yet to see them. Are we not in Starling City?”

 

“Star City,” she corrects automatically, though she has no idea how she got her lips to move. She feels like she's being suspended in air, her body weightless and uncentered. There's no ground beneath her feet. She's thoroughly out of her depths. 

 

How does she explain to the love of her life that his mother was murdered, and he was there along with his little sister to bare witness to it? At the hands of a man that he thought he'd killed years before no less?

 

She can't breathe. She's pretty sure she's going to throw up again.

 

“Oh… Is Star City far from Starling?” the confused arch of his eyebrows follows his question, and she almost smiles at the innocence on his face. Almost.

 

“No, Star City  _ is _ Starling City. It was renamed a couple years ago.”

 

“So then where's my mother and sister?” he growls, patience wearing thin. 

 

She swallows, and then she crushes his heart. “Oliver… your mom… your mom died 7 years ago.”

 

She'd describe the destruction that takes place on his face as an avalanche. Oliver’s features tumble and roll and fall and completely comes apart. The catastrophe is hard to watch, but beautiful in it's downward spiral and in a way that she can't help but stare, even as she clutches her heart in her hands because it's her own undoing. 

 

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes bright with tears, and it kills her,  _ kills her, _ that he has to mourn his mother's death. Again.

 

“I don't understand…” he says, desperately trying not to break down in front of her, but failing much like he’s always done when trying to hide his emotions from her. At least that will never change no matter what he does or doesn't remember. “H--How did she… what… what happened to her?”

 

And this is the part, she realizes, where she opens the can of worms that is their lives and lets him in on the never ending mess.

 

“Slade Wilson killed her. He wanted you to choose between her and Thea, much like you'd had to choose between Sara and Shado on the island. Ultimately, your mother made the choice for you and he… he killed her.”

 

His fists tighten on the blanket tossed over his lower body, a piece of the material pulled so taut within his hold that she's afraid he might rip it. “That's… that can't be… you've got it all wrong. Slade Wilson is dead. I killed him. I  _ killed _ him.”

 

“You did and you didn't. The mirakuru kept him alive. It drove him insane and sick with revenge. He almost tore this city apart.”

 

Oliver's out of the hospital bed faster than she can make sense of his movement. But he doesn't run like she's expecting him to, instead he begins to pace by the window, his back to her as he lowers his head into his hands, his emotions tugging at him every which way.

 

“This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening,” he keeps repeating, each sentence like a nail in her coffin. 

 

She'd thought she knew what feeling helpless was like. She's so very wrong. There's nothing like watching your husband try to hang onto even a grasp of his sanity while you stand by, unable to offer any comfort because you know that he'll flinch away from your touch. That your very presence  _ is _ the problem. Not the solution. Not the thing that will make everything for him easier, better.

 

His back is straight as a rod, tension straining his limbs as he marches the distance from the hospital bed to the corner where the TV hangs. 

 

Suddenly, he's facing her, “Where's my sister?” 

 

He says it like he's afraid of the answer.

 

She's glad he doesn't have to be. “She's not in the country. She lives in London. I told her about the accident, haven't gotten a response because, you know, time difference but we should hear from her soon. And I'm sure that when she hears about what happened she'll be on the next flight here.”

 

The tension leaves his body in a whoosh of air. It's not all gone, nor does he return to his post, but he doesn't look as tightly coiled in pain as he had been a moment ago.

 

Then she thinks, maybe she  _ can _ help him. Not with her touch, not with her presence, but with her knowledge. Because she knows if the roles were reversed, she'd want to know all the things she's missing.

 

“So she's okay?” he asks tentatively. 

 

“Better than she has been in years,” she supplies, then cringes immediately at her word choice. Oliver's confusion and apprehension returns just as quickly as it’d left.

 

“What do you mean by that? What's happened to her?”

 

_ God, what hasn't happened to Thea? To all of them? _

 

Felicity sighs, and then she speaks, “Oliver, these past almost 9 years, they haven't been easy. Not on you, not on Thea, not on  _ a lot _ more persons lives that you've influenced. And by a lot, I mean  _ a lot _ . We've lost as much as we've gained, both in the way of family and friends and in other ways too. And there's a mountain's worth of information to share with you. But I promise you, I  _ promise _ you that I'll tell you all of it. So long as you ask me. So long as you need me.” She pauses, lets out another breath, “And, I know you. Knew how you were back then. Just-- Oliver, please don't shut down or pretend or runaway. I know this must all be so so difficult for you, but I'd hate to see you revert back to old ways -- even if technically, you wouldn’t know any different. If it ever gets too much, just tell me and I'll try my best to make it not suck as much.”

 

His face shifts, as if seeing something for the first time. As if he'd been underestimating her and whatever it was that would come out of her mouth. Like she'd thrown him for a loop. He doesn't look at her quite the same as he always does, but this reaction? It's the first time today that he's looked like even a fraction of the man he's become.

 

“I don't know how to turn to someone else when I'm out of my depth. It's been me, by myself for quite some time. I just-- I've never been good at the whole ‘talking to people’ thing.”

 

Felicity feels herself smile, the warm, familiar heat of hope being lit deep within her. This, she can deal with.

 

“I know that. I'm your wife, Oliver. But before I was your wife or your girlfriend or something more, I was your friend. Your best friend. I know how you are and like I said earlier, I'll be there to remember everything for you. I'm stubborn like that.”

 

His lips twitch like he wants to smile but won't allow himself to. 

 

Felicity goes on, “Just promise me you'll try? Just a little bit?”

 

He shakes his head, like he's still unsure of what it is exactly that she's asking of him. The frustration practically bounces in waves off him as he sits back on his hospital bed. “How?” he croaks out, vulnerability that he's trying so hard to cover up dripping from his voice. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

 

“I know you can't control how you feel, or how you react to all this, but I guess what I mean is just not to push us away. Me and William and John. We're here for you. I’m not urging you to be something or someone you're not… don't pretend to be what you think I or we would want you to be because you think it'll make us happy. That's what you did when you first came back from the island.”

 

His eyes alight with interest at the mention of when he actually came home, “And what is it that I did when I first came back?”

 

She meets his gaze head on. “Exactly what you planned to do. Exactly what you've probably been planning to do again.” And she knows he knows that she means about a million things with those words alone.

 

“You mean, you know about…”

 

“Yes,”

 

“And I lied about it to…”

 

“You did,”

 

He nods, breaking her gaze to study his hands as he contemplates this revelation. She can see the spiral that he's going down, questions flying around in his eyes, demanding their answers but being pushed aside as even more questions take their place. She's afraid he might go mad from the mystery of what's been his life for the past 9 years.

 

He looks up at her again, “Did she know about the list? Before she died? Did my mother know about my mission? Did I ever stop lying to her?”

 

Her throat burns from the sting of the unsaid words that she knows will rock his world again. She feels like she's reliving nightmares the more of his history she reveals to him. And she's barely said anything so far. 

 

“Your father, Malcolm Merlyn and a handful of other Starling City rich elites back then are the ones that came up with the list. The city was suffering at their hands and their plans were of mass destruction. Your father wanted to back out, and Malcolm Merlyn knew. The shipwreck that killed him and almost killed you wasn't an accident. Your mother… she knew all along. About the list, about what Malcolm's plan for the Glades was, but I think she'd only found out about your mission later.”

 

He doesn't try to deny her words this time. She thinks he's past that stage of instant denial. Though it's still hard for him to hear that both his parents were involved and complacent in the very thing he's tasked himself with defeating. Again.

 

“I think… I think I need a minute to process all of… this,” he stumbles out, head now held in his hands and she's afraid. Afraid to leave him like he wants her to. She doesn't know how to  _ not _ be there for him. It's not something she can turn off or dial down. Her presence has always been something that calmed him whenever his mind was at riot, but now he's barely comfortable with her in his immediate vicinity.

 

Still, her feelings aren't what's important right now. He needs space and time with his thoughts and… how can she say no? She refuses to force her presence on him, even more so knowing that it'll cause more harm than good.

 

“Sure, that's no problem. I uh… I have some paperwork to take care of and coffee to inhale. Take all the time you need.”

 

She slips out of the room before she does something stupid like beg him to remember her.

 

\---

 

She wonders how long she's been standing by this coffee machine. She hasn't touched it yet. She hasn't really even looked at it since she arrived. People come and go, doctors, nurses and family members of patients of the like, grunts of displeasure at the mediocre taste of the coffee flying from their lips. Still, they keep drinking it. Still, some of them return for more.

 

She doesn't know why she's just standing here, staring off at nothing in particular. Her legs are cinder blocks, forged into the hospital floor. She is apart of this building. A piece of furniture. A fixture. Barely being paid a passing glance from the people all around her.

 

She hadn't realized she was so invisible. Or maybe here, no one cares about who she is because they've got their own problems to worry about. Or maybe she's just gotten good at hiding in plain sight. Oliver would be so proud… if he any idea who she is.

 

Alone now, in the privacy of her own mind, Felicity welcomes the breakdown.

 

It’s like watching a movie. She can just see it all so clearly, like she's detached herself from it all.

 

Life has her by her throat, blocking the flow of air throughout her body, and it's laughing at her, taunting and menacing and not even a tiny bit remorseful as it dangles her from its outstretched hand. 

 

And she's struggling. She's trying to claw at life's hand, to kick at life's form so it'll  _ let her go _ but life’s sickening laughter only becomes louder. And it's looking at her like she's the saddest little bug that it can not wait to squash. 

 

Life has no grievances as it chokes her. Just now, it gave her a good, a  _ baby _ , but not without compromise. Not without stealing away something of hers. She didn't want this. She didn't want to play this sick, sick game.

 

And Felicity can't breathe. The smell of the coffee churns her stomach, her head is pounding behind her eyes, and she can't see anything because her tears have blurred her vision. Still, she doesn't move, not even an inch.

 

She doesn't know where in this entire hospital her presence is welcome. She doesn't know if she's given Oliver enough time to think about the things he's learnt. She doesn't know if she can face him again without breaking down in front of him. She doesn't know what to say to him to make this all better. She just… she doesn't know.

 

She wonders how William is doing. He's probably asleep, or at least she hopes he is. She does know that misses him. Terribly. She shouldn't have sent him home. That wasn't fair to him. But somehow she also knows that she hadn't done it to make William feel like his presence isn't important, but because she knew that him being there was overwhelming to Oliver right then.

 

God, how is he going to manage raising a teenage boy  _ and _ a toddler in the mindframe he's currently in? 

 

But then she reminds herself that his memory won't be gone forever. It  _ will not _ . She'll invent something out of thin air if she has to. She repeats that in her head, over and over again but somehow it refuses to stick.

 

She's not so sure of anything anymore.

 

And she still can't breathe.

 

“Felicity.”

 

She jerks around at the sound of her name, coming face to face with John Diggle. She hadn't managed to wipe the tears from her eyes, so she knows the first thing he sees is how broken she looks. She doesn't really have it in her to convince him otherwise either.

 

There's a duffel bag hanging from his right hand but with one good look at her, he drops it and opens his arms. She doesn't hesitate as she springs into his embrace.

 

“I'm here,” he murmurs, arms wrapped firmly around her back and she's positive he's the only thing keeping her upright. Her body goes slack against him, and it takes her a minute to realize the broken sobs she's hearing are from her own lips. “We're gonna get through this. He'll remember everything before you know it.”

 

John’s quieting her sobs, rubbing a comforting hand over her back, and she kind of hates herself as she realizes that while this whole thing  _ is _ happening to her, it's happening to John too. His best friend doesn't remember him, and here he is being strong and reassuring when she's almost positive he's losing his shit too. She wishes she didn't know him so well sometimes.

 

Leaning back so she can see his face, she surveys the war of pain waging in his dark eyes and the tiny piece of her heart that had managed to stay upright collapses in her chest right then.

 

“John,” she whispers, trying to pull every comforting thought into that one word. He dips his head, nodding briefly before blowing out a harsh breath. He only gives himself that single moment before he releases her, though he doesn't move too far away. She's glad for it.

 

“How's William?” she questions, heart tilting at the thought of him once more. 

 

“He's worried and hurt, but he crashed not long after I dropped him off. It's probably good that you had him go home.” 

 

“I know. Really wish he was here though. Maybe all this wouldn't be so hard,” her voice wobbles as she speaks and she clears her throat, wiping away at her errant tears as she bows her head.

 

John plants a steady hand on her shoulder, “I might not be William, but I'm here for as long as you need me. For as long as  _ both _ you and Oliver need me. Even if he doesn't know it.”

 

She lets a small smile lift her lips, swallowing down anymore tears before they threaten to spill. “I know. And I love you for it. But, it's not just that. It’s… I'm…” she trails off, suddenly nervous to reveal the news.

 

“You're what?” he encourages. 

 

Boy does she hope this reaction is better than the last.

 

“I'm pregnant.”

 

John’s eyes widen in shock, a huff of disbelief flies from his lips, and then his face breaks out into a huge, beaming smile. She could cry tears of joy right then.

 

“Congratulations, Felicity!” she's in his arms again, and she can't help the giggles that bubble out of her. And it's this joy again that truly lets her know that this is something that she wants, and the happiness of it all can not be taken from her, no matter what.

 

He pulls back to beam down at her, arms still placed on her shoulders, “Wow, man, you're having a kid. A genius, ninja kid. I don't think the world is ready for this baby.”

 

Felicity lets out an actual laugh for the first time that day, and she knows that things won't be so bad, and it's all thanks to John Diggle.

 

When both she and John enter Oliver's hospital room again, he's asleep once more. It's a fitful one, much like all the other ones she'd witnessed as she’d watched him sleep that day. She doesn't have to guess to know that he's dreaming of the island and she wishes for the millionth time that he didn't have to be going through all of this torture  _ again _ .

 

John sits with her for an hour, silent beside her as they both consider the difficulties that they'll be faced with for however long this nightmare lasts. It's sobering and horrific and she doesn't want it. But, she doesn't exactly have a choice. 

 

He leaves not long after -- it's after 1 am and the man  _ does _ have a wife and two kids to take care of -- kissing her on her forehead as he goes.

 

She thinks of what will happen when Oliver wakes again, thinks of the truths she'll have to reveal to him. The truth about Tommy and Laurel, and how they died. The truth about how almost everyone he’d known before the island is gone. 

 

She wonders when this torment will end, yet, at the same time, she knows better that it will not.

 

She's not sure when it is exactly that she falls asleep on the uncomfortable hospital chair by Oliver's bed, but she does know that the last thing she sees is her husband's forehead crinkled in pain as he suffers through yet another nightmare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this fic is a multichapter but i currently dont have any idea how long the whole story will be. i do know that it'll be a lengthy fic though.
> 
> if u have questions, feel free to ask!

**Author's Note:**

> honestly? im not sorry. 
> 
> got questions? ask away and let me know how you feel about this!
> 
> twitter: @felicitysdagger  
> tumblr: emilyszuko


End file.
